


it wasn't much, but it was enough

by polariz3



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (lots of it!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers, is there a tag for "slightly mean and closed off character becomes suddenly warm and kind"?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18990121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polariz3/pseuds/polariz3
Summary: post ch. 4 trial. saihara begins to see ouma's lying for what it really is: a cover for his true feelings.((not overtly slash but this was lowkey intended as a slash fic. feel free to read it however you'd like!))





	it wasn't much, but it was enough

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! I'm so sorry about this in advance. I wrote it in less than a week and it's super self-indulgent, so feel free to give me a bit of advice/criticism in the comments. also, please pardon my ridiculous au, I just rewatched the ch. 4 trial and couldn't help but feel like ouma seemed to be using the whole "i want to see you all suffer" thing as a cop-out for the emotions he showed during the trial and that inspired me a lot. thanks for reading!

"Oh man, did you fall for all that fake crying!? You're so dumb! I would never cry for Gonta!"

Saihara felt numb. He wasn't really listening anymore.

"I wouldn't have betrayed Gonta. You should've realized that."

"Then—then why did Gonta—"

A giggle passed through his lips that morphed into a cascading cackle. "Who cares about that idiot!? I wanna enjoy this game filled with suspicion and betrayal from the bottom of my heart!"

When Saihara saw the smile on his face, the look in his eyes, he saw Ouma for what he really was.

Malice. 

His entire body, nothing but raw and unfettered malice.

"I am the supreme leader of evil, so it's obvious my personality would be twisted. The more you suffer, the more I enjoy it. There are people in this world who spread grief and misery for no other reason than the thrill of it, and I'm one of those people! Nothing pleases me more than inflicting pain on others!"

Nothing really went on in Saihara's mind. It was all shock. Ouma had lost it, or maybe it was there all along. Malice spilled from his throat, poured all over him—he reeked of it. It became him, enveloping him like an aura. It was all malice. That was all Saihara could see. His face held the maniacal look of a comedy theater mask, contorted and morphed into an uncanny caricature of enjoyment. 

When Saihara did speak, it was merely to make himself feel less threatened. Truth be told, Ouma scared him, truly and to the bone. It was something about him that had always unnerved Saihara, to say the least, but now, that thing revealed itself to be dreadful and ghastly. The lying was a terror, and Saihara was desperate to end it.

"You're alone, Ouma-kun. You always will be."

Ouma began to stammer something about not wanting friends. Then, his face twitched and morphed into one of casual dismissal, suppressing any trace of feeling. "This is boring. I'm not interested anymore."

He left with no further comment.

The remaining students fawned over Kaito, injured by Ouma's words just as much as he had been injured with Ouma's hands. It placed an uncertainty in the air among them. When they left the trial room, it was out of fear and discomfort. In their minds, the room was drenched in the blood of their friends and it chilled them all to the core to stay another second in there once Ouma was gone, since he had been the focus, and his absence reminded them of where they were.

Saihara drifted to his dorm room, unsure of what to do. That was when he heard the noise. 

It was ugly, quite frankly. It was a terrible amalgamation of suppressed feeling and fear and dread, clawing its way up the throat of another student. He didn't recognize it at first, but then he opened the door to the dormitory building and found Ouma leaning against his door on the upper pathway, sobbing. It felt surreal, but Saihara was sure it was no lie.

The moment the door behind Saihara clicked shut, they both looked at each other, meeting eyes as if deer in a pair of headlights. Then, with the elegance of a fawn, Ouma opened the door to his room and slipped through, gone in an instant and leaving Saihara gaping at the sight. 

His feet and his curiosity carried him in equal parts up the stairs. He knocked, pounded even, on the door. Unbeknownst to him, Ouma stayed firmly planted on the other side, itching to grab something to fend Saihara off with but knowing he had no such weapon, physically or figuratively. He had no lies to be heard, no way to get himself out of this situation. The only thing he could do was wipe his face with his scarf and open the door.

His eyes were red and puffy, a sharp contrast to his usual paleness. He didn't open the door fully, just enough so his face would show as he pressed his weight against it.

"Leave me be," he demanded.

"What are you so upset about?"

"I'm not upset, you idiot. Didn't you hear me!? I told you, Gonta was nothing worth crying about!"

"I never said you were upset about Gonta. I asked what it was that you were upset about."

"Like you care, Saihara-chan. You know you don't give a shit. You might as well have said it yourself."

Ouma looked about ready to spit in his face. He seemed disgusted by the sight of him, but something about his scrunched expression screamed 'bitter' rather than 'disgusted.'

"So that's it then."

He paused, and so did Saihara. In fact, Saihara let the silence draw out as long as possible so as to slowly push the answer out of him. Normally, Ouma would've known better, but he had bigger problems to focus on.

"What does that mean?" His tone was cold. It was voiced as more of a statement than a question. 

"It was what I said, wasn't it?"

"What, are you here just to rub it in? Here to see the end results?"

"No, I came here because I didn't know where else to go! What am I supposed to do with myself, Ouma-kun!? How am I supposed to handle what just happened in there!? Gonta was the only one of us that really seemed incapable of anything so—so awful, and look what you did to him! He's dead, Ouma!" Every sense of formality dropped from his statements as he went on. He was nearly at the top of his lungs, and with the niceties melted away, he seemed close to crying as well. "He's dead and that's all your fault! He never would've—he couldn't have—"

Before he knew it, his face was hot with tears as he slowly unraveled, sick of playing the role of detective. He wished he hadn't known the truth, but it was what kept him alive, and guilt forced him to be grateful. He couldn't see it, but he could feel Ouma's gaze on him, picking him apart. 

Saihara never meant what he said. It was pure anger, misguided grief, and fear. He never wanted to blame it on Ouma. He could see the potential in him, the intelligence in his eyes. He knew that Ouma was able to be a good person, but he just couldn't bring himself to see past the despair he felt at the death of classmate after classmate. Before this, he could blame it on motive and mastermind and Monokuma alike, but for another student to be the one to persuade the murderer? It was a gut-punch—a betrayal like no other, and one that blinded him with rage. 

He stammered weakly, and then something in him broke, and one gasping sob after another consumed him. Ouma pushed his way out of the doorway and into the hall. He gently took ahold of Saihara's arm and wordlessly led him to his room. Saihara followed without complaint or contest, barely caring until Ouma was physically in his dorm room, at which point he began to ground himself again. He turned to Ouma and stared, and Ouma did the same. 

"You're hiding it as much as I am," Ouma remarked, wiping his eye with a sleeve. "Look at you. You're bitter because you're angry, not because you don't like me."

"No! You—you killed him," he mumbled, not meeting eyes with him.

"Come on, sit down, let me help you."

Saihara looked up. That was surprisingly intimate for Ouma, and equally as surprising was the comforting, soft tone to his voice. He sat down on the bed. 

"You're a wreck, Saihara-chan. You need to pull it together."

"I don't want to pull it together! I want to go home!"

Ouma seemed to recognize the distress and ineffectiveness of his approach. "Hey, it's alright, just take a deep breath. This will be over before you know it. Everything's going to be okay," he soothed, sitting down next to him and placing an arm around him, "you'll be alright. Just take a deep breath and relax."

"How can I—I can't possibly relax."

"You can, Saihara-chan, I'll help you."

"Why would I let you help me? This is all..."

Saihara lost steam. He began to run out of real conviction or strength as his words went on. He wanted to go on but he couldn't bring himself to. It felt like an insurmountable task. 

"It's all my fault," Ouma admitted, words stinging his tongue, "I know it's all my fault. Nothing can make up for what I did to him! I know I can't fix it! It was awful and I can't undo it!"

Both of them sat in a haze of guilt and sorrow. It was almost comforting to be able to feel it at the same time, but neither of them said that. Then, slowly, Ouma used the arm he held around Saihara to pull him toward himself. Saihara did nothing but allow himself to lean in and rest against Ouma's tiny shoulder. He cried, a damp patch expanding slowly across that section of Ouma's shirt, and he clutched the loose fabric, hoping to find some kind of stability in it. 

"I'm sorry," Saihara murmured.

"So am I," Ouma replied.

"I shouldn't have said that to you. You don't deserve to be alone."

Ouma's eyes fogged up again, and he clenched his fist to remain composed. "No, you were right."

"Uh-uh, it was wrong. You never deserved to be alone."

"I killed Gonta—"

"I know it was a lie," he declared, pulling himself upright and looking into Ouma's eyes, "I know you were just covering up the guilt."

"That's—that's not true."

"You can't hide it from me." His voice was strained and his eyes red, but he held just as much poise to his mannerisms as ever. "I know it."

"Can we not talk about it?"

Saihara merely continued, not even stopping to consider Ouma's request. "You cried during the trial. The anger you had at him for not arguing, that was all guilt, wasn't it? And then after, with your remarks about how stupid he was and how your grief was a lie—that was the real lie, wasn't it? That's why you didn't say it until after he—he died. Because you didn't want him to hear it, because you knew it wasn't true and you didn't want him to believe it."

"That's not true," he said, "you're making it up."

"Then why would you cry? If you wanted to make us all suffer, and if you really didn't care, why would you cry over being told none of us like you?"

"Saihara-chan, you're an idiot." 

The remark gave him pause. His confident look shattered, and he hung his head slightly, eyes averted to the floor. Ouma's statement shouldn't have been much to him, given how the evidence he presented lined up, but he had felt as though he were out on a limb, not really knowing for sure the truth of Ouma's complicated spiderweb of feelings and thoughts and motivations, but thinking, hoping that if he got close, Ouma might just tell him the truth for once. Ouma surveyed the damage he had done and decided he had sufficiently alienated Saihara and seemed satisfied, but in a very disappointed and sad sort of way. Saihara pulled in another hiccupping breath and another wave of tears pressed their way from his eyes. He saw no reaction in Ouma's expression, only a blank slate and nothing more. Despite this, Ouma put his hand on Saihara's and tried to comfort him still.

"I know it's hard. Everyone puts you in the position you're in and forces you to stay there no matter what. I know what that feels like—how you must feel. For you, it's 'savior' and for me, it's 'nuisance.' I know it feels awful, but you know what? At the very least, you hold their respect. And you're doing good. You've saved everyone you can so far."

Saihara sobbed again, nodding. He suddenly felt stripped, emotionally, and out in the open. He knew Ouma was right, but he didn't want to admit that he felt alienated from all but one or two of his fellow surviving students. He liked them and thought highly of them, and he didn't want to think that they could be making him hurt so much. The vulnerability was just as painful as his own personal truth.

"But I—I didn't save anybody."

"Of course you did," he replied, pushing himself into a more comfortable position and trying to once again pull Saihara in, "you saved everybody. You saved us all from being executed, especially with Shinguji-kun. We never would've made it without you. Even if I could've figured it out, nobody would've believed me. You have saved everybody so far. Don't forget that."

Saihara laid down slowly, with his head in Ouma's lap. He felt nervous doing it, like it was a wrong thing to do and somebody was going to come scold him. Ouma's hands met his hair and it made him feel even more open—more exposed than he already had. It was something he hadn't felt the entire time he had been stuck here. It was gentle affection, the kind that made him able to forget, temporarily, the horrors that he had faced and the horrors that would come. He was, for the most part, shocked that Ouma would even touch him to begin with, much less pull him into his personal space less than five minutes after calling him an idiot. 

"You think I'm an idiot, so why—why are you trying to make me feel better."

"Even someone as dumb as you doesn't deserve to be hurt."

"You really think I'm..."

"No, it was only a joke."

Saihara tried to nod, but his position made it difficult. He was so, so tired, and if he could just close his eyes for a moment—

"Saihara-chan?"

"Hm?"

"Did you fall asleep?"

He flushed with embarrassment and sat up. "Did I?"

Ouma giggled, but it was dampened by his still-wet face. Saihara could tell he had continued to cry. "I think you did. Good to know you don't think I'll kill you."

"I'm just tired."

"I could stay with you," Ouma suggested, albeit a little too quickly to not set off alarm bells in Saihara's mind.

"Stay... with me?"

"Yeah, like a sleepover," he joked.

Saihara puzzled for a moment. "How can you be over it so fast? How can you not care about it, just like that?"

"It's not that I don't care," he said, fidgeting with his hair. "I just... can't stay hung up on it. It'll... hurt."

Saihara nodded.

"And I suppose—I mean, I think you might have been right about how I was feeling, because I don't really want to see anybody suffer. I just want this to be over."

"So you really did want to help us?"

"Maybe."

It was ambiguous, but it wasn't a lie, so Saihara could accept it. He felt almost numb again, with the feelings of distress washed away into a sea of bland nothingness. It was nothing new to him, but he didn't know how he felt about it. He almost wanted to be sad again, just because that was so much easier than trying to maintain any kind of hope or optimism, something which required too much energy to bear.

"I guess if you really mean the best and you won't try to kill me, I wouldn't mind having company."

In truth, Saihara felt bitterly lonely and desperately wanted Ouma to stay and keep him company, but he would never let that on. He wanted to have Ouma stick around now that he understood how he really felt—now that he understood that Ouma wasn't nearly as bad as he seemed to be. It felt strange to have someone be so capable of picking him open and understanding him that way. It felt vulnerable, but it didn't feel bad. In truth, he wanted to do the same to Ouma. He wanted to understand Ouma the same way Ouma seemed to understand him.

Saihara stood and thought for a moment. "I'm really sorry about what I said earlier. That is, if you're really telling the truth about how you feel. You can stay here for—" He didn't want to say 'the night,' that felt too forward. "For a while, just... promise me you meant it. Promise me you didn't lead him to his death on purpose. Tell me the truth."

"Saihara-chan, I promise." He almost seemed upset as he spoke. "I promise, I never wanted to kill him. And I'm sorry about what I said, too. I don't want to see you hurt."

It felt surreal once more to have Ouma speak such a bare emotional truth, but Saihara made no mention of it and moved to the bathroom to wash his face of the tears that had since dried there. As he did so, Ouma approached behind him, but when he saw the anxiety on Saihara's face (no doubt at feeling cornered in the tiny room), he kept his distance and stood a few inches outside of the door. 

"Do you think anybody else would ever believe me?"

"About you not wanting to hurt them?" He clarified, patting his face dry. "I want to say yes, but I honestly don't think so."

Ouma nodded. He seemed a bit forlorn.

"I believe you, though. If it matters any."

He didn't say it, but judging by the look on his face, it did seem to matter. Very much so, in fact. Saihara brushed past him, slightly grateful that Ouma played no tricks and didn't obstruct his way out. He faced away from Ouma and unbuttoned his two layers of shirts, revealing the semi-comfortable undershirt beneath it.

"Strip teasing me already, Saihara-chan?"

Neither of them could help but laugh, although Saihara did feel some mild embarrassment. "Stop it. We shouldn't be joking about that."

"About what?"

"About—you know exactly what! Don't do that."

"Fine, fine. I won't make any lewd jokes or comments about how comfortable you seem just hanging out with me."

"Ouma-kun!"

He giggled, and it sort of prompted Saihara to smile. He knew that Ouma's jokes couldn't bring back Gonta or any of their other classmates, nor could his company, but for Saihara, it gave him a will. He wanted to make sure nobody else had to suffer. He wanted to be certain that they could end the game, or at least survive. It gave him a will to continue when nothing else really could've, and that was very important to him. Of course, he knew nothing about Ouma's plans or intentions, and of course, he knew Ouma could be lying and plotting to kill him as they spoke, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because Saihara had trust.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.


End file.
